consider the source

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy;

at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

- Psalm 16:11, ESV

 

Joy. What images or ideas does that word induce? Society defines it as “the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or the prospect of possessing what one desires” (Merriam-Webster). Therein lies the tangled evidence that joy, according to worldly standards, is rooted in the material and circumstantial; it is contingent upon obtaining – and keeping – what we want.

 

By this same definition, joy is fleeting because it is dependent upon things that are inconstant. That dream home will soon require repairs and remodeling, just like the rest. That new-model car won’t be new forever; it will accumulate miles, scratches and rust, like any other. That coveted promotion comes not only with a pay raise, but with its own unique demands and headaches, too.

 

In short joy is, both in its degree and duration, a reflection of its source. So if we are to have lasting, unshakable joy, its source must necessarily be eternal and immovable. Enter the context provided by David: fullness; forevermore. Quite a contrast to circumstantial and fleeting, is it not? Unlike the hollow and temporary fixes offered by the temporal, the joy which comes from God is complete and endless. And the secret? It is found in his presence. Not in doing or working or earning or saving up or purchasing – but simply in being. Overflowing, enduring joy is ours for the taking if we will only rest in the company of God.

 

His mention of the right hand is also interesting. Biblically speaking, the right hand is symbolic of a person’s strength. So we might rightly read this as “in the place of your strength there are pleasures forevermore.” This sentiment aligns neatly with something Nehemiah told God’s people many years later: “[T]he joy of the Lord is your strength” (8:10, ESV). In God’s strength, we find our joy. And in his joy, we find our strength.

 

Paul’s letter to the church at Colosse sheds additional light upon the matter: “If then you have been raised in Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God” (3:1, ESV, emphasis mine). Jesus resides next to the Father in the place of strength and joy. Translation: In Jesus is found the wellspring of our strength and joy. This is borne out in another of Paul’s letters, this one written to the Ephesian Church: “[God] seated us with him in heavenly places” (2:6, ESV). We are in Jesus. Jesus is seated at the right hand of God. So we, too, sit there in the place of honor, strength, pleasures and, inevitably, joy.

 

Joy. Scripture defines it as residing in God’s presence. According to biblical standards, it is rooted in the glorious and eternal; it is contingent upon nothing and no one except Jesus – and that is reason enough to rejoice.

yesteryears

Say not, "Why were the former days better than these?" For it is not from wisdom that you ask this.

- Ecclesiastes 7:10, ESV

 

There is a tendency embedded deep within the human soul to long for the “good old days.” Even in the relatively-brief span of my 27 years, I find this to be true. How easy it is to lay side-by-side in my mind the past state of things and those of the present, and declare the former better than the latter! I have often wondered why our memories become gilded, particularly when I consider the troubles that coexisted with what I remember so fondly. Perhaps there is truth to be found in the old adages, “time heals all wounds,” and “[chronological] distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

 

Psychologically speaking, this disposition is understood as a loophole of sorts. Psychologists cite a “powerful psychological payoff for holding onto the past,” suggesting that it “allows people to avoid personal responsibility” (Carl Alasko, Ph.D., Psychology Today). In a very real sense, it is an escapist mentality which enables us to avoid the pressing issues of the moment.

 

Whatever the underlying motive may be, Scripture pointedly states it is both unhealthy and foolish. A different translation has it this way: “Don't always be asking, ‘Where are the good old days?’ Wise folks don't ask questions like that” (The Message). And this is not an isolated occurrence either. Paul also understood the value of living in the present:

 

I am still not all I should be, but I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I strain to reach the end of the race and receive the prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us up to heaven. (Philippians 3:13-14, NLT)

 

It is significant that the Apostle Paul, arguably the foremost evangelist and church planter who ever lived, was intentional in doing the exact opposite of the behavior in which we so frequently indulge. Instead of glorifying the past at the expense of the present and future, he disregarded the past so he could concentrate all his energies on his present course and attain a future glory. Not only so, but he was quick to admit his own culpability (“I am still not all I should be”) – precisely what we endeavor to avoid. Perhaps Paul’s great success in planting, growing, and sustaining thriving churches was, in part, due to this outlook.

At the other end of the spectrum, could it be that this pernicious human bent is at the root of church mortality? It is indeed. I recently read an article written by a professional church consultant entitled Autopsy of a Deceased Church. In it, the author, Thom S. Rainer, made the following statement about a now-dead church: “The members idolized another era… They saw their future to be returning to the past.”

 

Should we summarily dismiss our heritage? Absolutely not! Scripture also clearly emphasizes the importance of remembering where we have been (Deuteronomy 6:6-12; Isaiah 46:9). The point is that we cannot anchor ourselves to that past because doing so would hinder forward progress. God is not merely God of the then; he is God of the now and the will be. Jesus is the one “who is and who was and who is to come” (Revelation 1:4, ESV). So while we can warmly remember things of old and learn from them, we cannot afford to ignore the realities of today.

 

Let us attend to God’s words, penned by the Prophet Isaiah: “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (43:18-19, ESV). And in our doing so, God promises to bring life to the dry and barren places among us.

red ink

I recently read about a school in England that banned the use of red ink. Teachers at Uplands Manor Primary no longer mark students’ papers with the standard hue, opting instead for the gentler tone of green. Obviously, color is not the real issue here. Reading between the lines, one is left to assume that educators are fearful of bruising young egos. But the question stands: Shouldn’t that shocking glare of red be used to get students’ attention? Shouldn’t pupils be given a clear, unedited picture of their standing, regardless of how unpleasant it may be?

 

There is a similar argument regarding issues of much greater weight than marks on a paper. Yet the fundamental principle is the same: God’s red ink is much too harsh and must be toned down for fear of insulting or turning people off to the Gospel.

 

Now, by no stretch of the imagination do I consider myself to be a “hellfire and brimstone” preacher – though such elements are undeniably present in Scripture (Jesus spoke about hell more often than any other individual in the Bible). Nor do I endorse a “bully pulpit” model. In addition, I believe the central message of the Christian faith is one of love, grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation (see John 3:16-17). God is, without question, a God of love. Nevertheless, you cannot have the latter without the former; if sin and hell are not real, there is nothing to be forgiven of or saved from, and a savior is irrelevant.

 

It also stands to reason that if souls are in peril, they must be told so. In other words, they must see red ink. As Christians, we cannot and must not be afraid of giving offense. While we should certainly seek to make truth known in a spirit of love (Ephesians 4:15) and avoid being intentionally abrasive and needlessly offensive, the fact remains that offense is a necessary part of salvation. Is this not the essence of conviction, which leads to repentance? I am wrong and Jesus is right.

 

Some argue that we preach a message of bigotry, intolerance, and hatred. I argue that nothing could be further from the truth. If love’s greatest act was the substitutionary death of Jesus for the sins of humanity, its second is the declaration of that Savior. To withhold that message is the truest act of hatred.

 

So yes, I preach about sin. I call it what it is. But that is so I can also proclaim this wonderful Savior who saved me from my red ink.

glorious

Who is Jesus to us? Do we see him for who he truly is? These are the questions which surround the event known to us as the Transfiguration. High on a remote mountainside, three of Jesus’ disciples – Peter, James and John – caught a glimpse of Jesus in all his glory. Their missteps and lessons learned in the process are our own.

 

On one of their many journeys, Jesus asked the Twelve, “Who do people think I am?” After a barrage of varied responses, he redirected: “But who do you say that I am?” (Matthew 16:13-15). Jesus was drawing their attention to the frequent disparity between opinions and truth. What matters most to him is neither approval ratings nor public sentiment, but identity. Church, who do we say he is?

 

Is he merely a nice guy; a good, but optional, example of how to live? There is no shortage of people in our world who will agree that Jesus is among the greatest men who ever lived. They will heartily affirm that he was an enlightened person, even a prophet. But they stop short of recognizing him as God. These same well-meaning individuals say that we, too, can become enlightened; that we can become our own saviors. Yet suggesting that we can somehow mend the brokenness inside of us is like attempting to perform open heart surgery on oneself. It doesn’t matter how skilled a doctor you may be; it is a bad idea that is not going to end well.

 

If Jesus is not God – if he is just another decent man who taught us how to live a moral life – then we have no hope. We might as well all go home and padlock the church doors because religion cannot save. Every mainstream alternative to Christianity– Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism – requires us to be good enough; we must work our way to God. But if by definition God is perfect, how can we as flawed individuals ever measure up to that standard?

 

On the mount of transfiguration, Peter, James and John saw in inexpressible glory the affirmation of what they believed to be true: Jesus is “the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16, ESV). He alone has the power to save us.

 

Still, another question remains: After seeing Jesus for who he is, how do we respond? The disciples exhibit three typical – and very different – reactions. The first is to ignore him. “Peter and the others were very drowsy and had fallen asleep” (Luke 9:32, NLT). Jesus took these men up the mountain to pray, but instead they fell asleep. Today this might be expressed as, “I get it, Jesus. You are God. But I have better things to do with my life than follow you.” If this is our attitude, we are going to miss it – that one moment when Jesus shows up in all his glory, the moment that will change our lives and the way we see God and this world. We will miss it because we are spiritually asleep.

 

Next we can be religious: “‘Teacher, this is wonderful!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘We will make three shrines – one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’” (Mark 9:5, NLT). After waking to the sight of Jesus conversing with the long-dead prophets, Peter suspected his best recourse was to memorialize the moment. So he offered to build three shrines. Again, he missed the point. The purpose of the vision was not only Jesus’ transformation, but his own. Our glory and our worth is irrevocably bound up in that of Jesus, for we are his image-bearers (Genesis 1:27; 1 John 3:2). Yet Peter thought he had to do in order to merit the glory he witnessed. Sadly, this is not an anomaly among Christians. Many who follow Jesus still believe they must somehow earn God’s love; they treat grace as a debt they must pay off. But Jesus does not need or want our religious constructs. The good we do must be an act of gratitude for the love he has already given – not an attempt to earn it.

 

Lastly, we can worship:

 

A bright cloud came over them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my beloved Son, and I am fully pleased with him. Listen to him.” The disciples were terrified and fell face down on the ground (Matthew 17:5-6)

First they slept, and then they became religious. In vacillating between extremes, the disciples failed to see the point of what was happening. So the voice of God interjected: “Pay attention! Stop what you are doing and focus!” The big idea here is Jesus – that’s it. When the disciples get that, what do they do? They immediately fall on their faces in worship; they’re shaken to their core. When we see Jesus for who he is, when we see his glory and perfection and recognize what he has done for us, the only fitting response is deep, overwhelming gratitude.

 

Have you ever truly seen Jesus for who he is? How are you responding to him?

you feed them

Two weeks ago, around 35 students from our Zeke37 youth program participated in World Vision’s 30 Hour Famine. This year’s theme was Feed Your 5,000. For a little over a day we fasted, taking in only liquids. In itself, it was a worthwhile experience. But with the help of our community, we also had the privilege of raising more than $2300 – enough to feed a child from infancy to well past their sixth birthday.

 

To some, this may seem inconsequential. “What is a single child amidst the 7,000 who die every day from hunger-related causes?” they ask. “And what is to say that, after eating for 6 ½ years, that child will not starve?” Others, the pragmatists, suggest that the problem is simply too large; after all, how can a few dozen students from small-town Delaware expect to change the world?

 

The Twelve were skeptics who asked the same sort of questions. In the course of their training, they saw a seemingly unending line of needs – masses of the sick, disabled and destitute. Time and again, these encounters served as the proverbial sandpaper that honed their attitudes toward a Kingdom bent. One in particular, the feeding of the 5,000, revealed the discrepancy between their hearts and the heart of Jesus.

 

It was late in the evening, and everyone was weary from a demanding season of ministry. They had tried to slip away unnoticed for a much-needed vacation, but to no avail; thousands followed them to their destination. Tired as he was, Jesus began to heal and teach the people. But as the sun sank toward the horizon, the disciples grew impatient: “It’s getting late, we are in the middle of nowhere, and these people haven’t eaten. Don’t you think you should send them away so they can find some food?” Yet Jesus didn’t seem concerned. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “You feed them” (Mark 6:37a).

 

Predictably, the disciples protested. “How do you expect us to do that, Jesus? Have you seen the size of this crowd? We don’t have any food, and we don’t have nearly enough money” (verse 37b). They got hung up on the size of the problem at hand and the lack of resources at their disposal. Instead of focusing on who was with them, they reverted to asking how it could be done. Such a relapse is faith killing. It impairs our effectiveness for the Kingdom. Its implicit declaration is, “Jesus, I know you’re God, but this issue is just too big.”

 

Yet Jesus graciously overlooked the slight, redirecting them to take inventory of what they did have. In the crowd, the disciples found a boy who packed a sack lunch. And that child’s now-famous five loaves and two fish – the equivalent of a few slices of Wonder Bread and some lunchmeat – became the makings of a miracle in the hands of Jesus.

 

What if the one child our efforts saved is holding the makings of a modern-day miracle?

 

The story ends with more than enough food to go around. So much, in fact, that twelve full baskets of leftovers were gathered – one for each of the disciples. The cynics now held the evidence and the ingredients of the miraculous within their hands. Jesus’ message to them was clear: The miracle of multiplication would not stop that day.

 

Friends, we are the Twelve. And the fragments we hold, when given to Jesus, are more than enough to meet the needs of this broken world. The question we must answer is this: Are we willing to let go of them? Jesus’ command still stands: You feed them.

 

rebuilding the wall, part 4

Upon undertaking the journey to Jerusalem, the first thing Nehemiah encountered was not a warm reception or unparalleled success, but opposition. In the nearly 150 years which had elapsed since the destruction of Jerusalem and exile of its people, opportunist outsiders had colonized the region. Nehemiah’s advent represented the third wave of returnees, and the squatters found their stakes increasingly threatened. Predictably, their reaction was hostile.

 

Jesus warned his disciples, and they reiterated the warning, that his followers will face opposition: “If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first” (John 15:18, NLT; cf. 1 John 4:13). With the advent of Jesus, God announced that he was taking back what was once his; he began the rebuilding of a broken-down world. Yet there always have been, and always will be, those who defy him. When we build Kingdom outposts among us, we will be countered. Expect it. Prepare for it. Welcome it – because it means we are doing something right. Make no mistake; “thy Kingdom come” disturbs and uproots and displaces. Such is necessary to make room for the change and the life it brings.

 

In Nehemiah’s case, the backlash came from people in high places (2:10). Sanballat was governor of Samaria, Judah’s northern neighbor. And Tobiah was likewise a high-ranking official, probably the governor of the Transjordan region. These men made no effort to hide their dissatisfaction with the rebuilding project. But Nehemiah had the authorization of the king. When it comes to doing God’s work, we must remember that we have the backing of the King. We may come up against powerful antagonists, but in those moments of conflict, let us ask: Who is greater – those standing in our way or the one who has our back?

 

Interestingly, Scripture gives no record of Nehemiah responding with diplomacy or conciliation. He wasted no time on such measures, knowing his opponents would be happy with nothing less than the subjugation of his people. So his first response was simply to ignore them. Amidst their protests, he rode to Jerusalem where he surveyed the extent of the damage and the work to be done (2:11-15). He pressed on. He realized that yielding, even for a moment, was playing into their hands. Each day the walls were not being rebuilt was one more day that God’s people remained captive. Do we share this sense of urgency and resolve? Do we realize that our mission is the one begun by Jesus – proclaiming freedom to the captives (Luke 4:18)? Our enemy desires no less than the enslavement of God’s image-bearers.

 

Later, when hostilities escalated, Nehemiah was forced to change tactics. With adversaries throwing around words like “rebellion” and “treason” he could no longer remain silent in the forum of public opinion (2:19). Still, he did not waiver, and he did not react predictably. Because he had the blessing of the king, we might expect him to counter by producing official documentation bearing the royal insignia. Instead, he went straight to the top: “The God of heaven will help us succeed” (2:20).

 

There are at least two reasons for this. First, he recognized the protests as a pretext; the bottom line was a hatred of God’s people and purpose. So Nehemiah invoked the necessary authority: “You may hate us, and you may hate what we are doing, but hatred cannot stop God. We will prevail.” Second, it shows that he depended upon God – and not the king – for his vindication.

 

Friends, the battle for the hearts and souls of people is very real. And as we proclaim the Gospel, we are certain to encounter opposition. Let us not be discouraged when it comes, but remain focused and resolute. Let us press on, knowing that the coming of the Kingdom changes everything. Let us join our God in rebuilding this fallen world.

rebuilding the wall, part 3

Nehemiah knew where God was leading him, so while he waited patiently in executing the plan, he wasted no time putting it together. There were numerous considerations to be taken into account. How long would the rebuilding take? Would the project be undertaken all at once or in stages? Who would provide the labor required for such a monumental task? How would the laborers be paid and housed? In all of these questions, it should be noted that Nehemiah didn’t equate faith with a lack of preparation. In other words his attitude was not, “I trust God; he will take care of the details.”

 

That Nehemiah was meticulous in his preparation is evidenced in his response when the opportune moment arose. Upon sharing his vision with Artaxerxes, the king wanted more information before making a decision: “How long will you be gone, and when will you return?” (2:6a). Scripture doesn’t record Nehemiah’s exact answer, but we can be sure of what he didn’t say – “I’m not really sure yet, but I’ll be back whenever I finish.” This was the king of Persia, the most powerful man in the world. He didn’t deal in vagaries or imprecisions; his empire had not been won by ambiguous ideas, but by calculation and foresight. Any proposal that did not reflect equal deliberation was sure to be vetoed. Nehemiah, then, had to demonstrate the credibility of his plan in clear, precise terms. And his ability to do so earned the king’s approval (2:6b).

 

Not only was he prepared with a timeline, he also managed to secure from the king carte blanche to travel across the empire and gather needed building materials. Artaxerxes even went a step further, providing a military escort to Jerusalem. All this was, of course, the result of God’s favor (2:8c). But it was also the product of Nehemiah’s thoughtful efforts.

 

Nehemiah’s example underscores an important truth: Visions do not become reality through whims or wishes. One may begin with desire, but that is only the seed. If it is to flourish, aspiration must be married to determination. The work of a visionary is just that: work. Speaking into existence what doesn’t yet exist is not the domain of the lazy. It is hard, back-breaking, callous-laden labor.

 

Furthermore, believing is not synonymous with aimless waiting. Trusting in God and laboring for a desired end are not mutually exclusive pursuits. Before a building can be constructed its foundation must be laid; a footer is dug and poured and block is stacked. In construction terms, the foundation rests on virgin ground – hard, compact soil that is undisturbed and will bear the building’s weight. In visionary terms, laying a stable foundation requires breaking new ground. This might necessitate digging deep, past tradition and preference and comfort to a base undisturbed by assumption. Or it may mean a complete shift, a relocation of priorities and goals. Whatever the case may be, the fact remains that vision inhabits the realm of impossibility so long as it has no underpinning in reality. As Jesus said, only fools build without a firm foundation (Matthew 7:26-27).

 

My father-in-law once shared a story of his own experience with me. He dreamed of building a two-car garage on his property. But a large tree stood on the site of his planned construction. So he cut it down. Later, when the town was replacing curbs along the property line, he asked them to put in a wide curb cut where the driveway would be. He had not begun building, but in a very real sense he was already laying the foundation; he saw what could be and began to make room for it. Today, a large garage stands in the place once inhabited by a vision and its obstacles.

 

Friends, what labors is God calling us to? Where is he telling us to plan, to dig, to see past what is to what could be? Let us not shy away from industry, but partner with him building the Kingdom here.

rebuilding the wall, part 2

When he heard about the wasted state of Jerusalem and the plight of its people, Nehemiah made up his mind: He would do something about it. Still, the fact remained that between him and the desired outcome stood a number of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. His response in the face of friction shows remarkable insight, forethought, courage, and determination. In short, Nehemiah’s story has much to teach us about making our visions a reality.

 

First, he knew that rebuilding Jerusalem’s walls required the approval of Artaxerxes. Nehemiah and his people were subjects of the Persian Empire. And while Persia was less heavy-handed toward its conquered peoples than Babylon had been, it had no less of a vested interest in keeping them under its thumb. Thus it was expected that the king would be, at best, unsympathetic to the Jewish cause and at worst, openly hostile. After all, reconstruction of the fortifications of a city with a long track record of defiance could be deemed less than politically expedient. Indeed, this appeared to be the leaning of Artaxerxes, who had earlier labeled Jerusalem a “hotbed of insurrection,” and summarily ordered that all rebuilding efforts be immediately discontinued (Ezra 4:19, 21).

 

The odds were stacked heavily against Nehemiah; there was small likelihood that the king would so drastically change his opinion. Yet Nehemiah took his case to God and asked for nothing less than a complete reversal of the king’s former position on the matter (1:11b). Perhaps he read and reread the words penned by Solomon some five centuries prior: “The king’s heart is like a stream of water directed by the Lord; he guides it wherever he pleases” (Proverbs 21:1, NLT). Artaxerxes was, to the world, a mercurial sovereign with the absolute authority of a god; to Nehemiah, he was a tool to be employed in the purposes of an all-powerful God.

 

What factors conspire to keep our church subjugated? What policies or attitudes need reversing so that God’s plans can be set into motion? Are we intentionally praying for that change?

 

Second, Nehemiah was not equipped for the task at hand. He was not a mason, military commander, or political strategist – all jobs which would be required of someone rebuilding the wall (and all of which he would later fulfill). But he would not be deterred. Instead of lamenting what he was not, he leveraged what he was. As royal cupbearer he did not possess great power, but he did have great opportunity for influence. His was a position of considerable trust, being a line of defense against assassination attempts; he tested the king’s food and drink to ensure it was not poisoned. Someone of a more radical bent might have employed this station to conspire to overthrow Persian rule. Not Nehemiah. He performed his duties to the best of his ability, believing that God placed him there for good reason. And by operating within God’s framework, he garnered favor with Artaxerxes.

 

It has been said that God does not call the equipped, but equips the called. Are we heeding his call to action, even when it seems that we may not have all of the pieces in place? Are we leveraging what he has given to us – money, facilities, manpower, etc. – to its fullest potential?

 

Then there was the issue of timing. Nehemiah was not given a well-defined timeline for action. He possessed only a general conviction that God wanted the rebuilding to happen. On the one hand, he had to be ready at a moment’s notice. And on the other, he had to possess nearly infinite patience. When the moment to act finally did arrive, five months had elapsed since he first heard of the walls. Depending upon his perspective, this may have seemed an eternity; perhaps he had wanted to start immediately. Or he may have wanted more time to prepare. Either way, Nehemiah conformed to God’s schedule. He watched for the opportunity and was ready to seize it when it came.

 

Are we willing to follow God’s timetable, even when we feel unprepared? If his timing doesn’t line up with our own, whose schedule takes precedence?

 

Last, Nehemiah had to contend with fear. In his telling of events, he freely admits, “I was terrified” (2:2). How would Artaxerxes respond to his request? There was no shortage of things to fear – the king’s displeasure, the possibility of losing his job, making waves, the magnitude of the undertaking before him, leaving the known and comfortable. But he did not allow his fear to cripple him. Just the opposite, he made his case boldly, even going so far as to ask the king to finance the project (2:8). And God blessed his bold faith: “The king granted these requests, because the gracious hand of God was on me” (2:8b, NLT).

 

Are we pursuing God’s plans in boldness? Or are we giving place to fears of rocking the boat, fears of where the funding will come from, fears of breaking new ground, fears of “we’ve never done it that way before”?

 

If our visions go unopposed, if they don’t give us pause, if they fail to raise questions and doubts, if they do not prompt us to face our fears, then they are not big enough. And if they are not big enough we need to trade them in for bigger, God-sized visions. And so I ask: What is God’s vision for us as a church? What monumental undertaking is he calling us to?

visions: rebuilding the wall, part 1

Recently, my thoughts have returned once again to the topic of vision. Where is God leading us, not only as a collection of ministries, but as a church body? A man named Nehemiah faced questions of a similar, pressing nature. And his memoirs offer us some invaluable wisdom.

 

Nehemiah was a retainer in the court of Artaxerxes, King of Persia. A Jew, he had been born into the captivity of his forebears. One day he received word from a friend who had visited their homeland. His report was grim; “great trouble and disgrace” had befallen their people. The wall surrounding Jerusalem was reduced to rubble, and its ten gates had been consigned to flames (Nehemiah 1:3).

 

The news brought Nehemiah to his knees. His life to this moment had passed entirely beneath the shadow of Persian sovereignty; he had never set foot on Judean soil. Yet his heart broke. Reduced to tears, he fasted and prayed for several days.

 

We might rightly wonder why this information was so devastating to Nehemiah. After all, it was not a new problem; the destruction of the Holy City, its Temple, and its walls happened some 140 years prior at the hand of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon. Surely Nehemiah had heard the tales, passed down as oral history for more than three generations. But what disturbed him was that it remained that way. The debris and charred timbers lay there for over a century, bleached by the Palestinian sun and drenched by rains, and no one took notice – that is, until Nehemiah.

 

Yet the question remains: Why did he show such concern for a wall? The Temple had been rebuilt under the leadership of Zerubbabel, completed nearly 70 years prior. There was no question that as the center of faith and culture, the Temple – and not the wall – was the heart of Jerusalem. Still, the report was emphatic that the people were troubled and shamed. The reason for this lies in what the wall represented. Structurally, it was independent of the Temple complex; but psychologically and functionally, the two were intertwined. Not only did the wall insulate the city from attack, it also delineated it, imparting identity by marking its parameters. It was a symbol of the future, sending the statement that, “We are here to stay.” And perhaps most importantly, in protecting the Temple, it helped to ensure the continuity of worship from generation to generation.

 

This explains why Nehemiah was crushed, as if a sucker punch had knocked the wind out of him. He was deeply moved and grieved over the future of his people. Vision begins with recognizing a need. This man understood just how high the stakes were. He saw vulnerability and a hindrance to God’s work where others saw only ancient history or an eyesore. Do we see what others cannot? Do we look past norms and the status quo to the spiritual depths of our circumstances?

 

However, he didn’t linger in the impotence of mourning. He took his burden and convictions to God, took time to align his heart and priorities. In doing so, Nehemiah avoided the extremes of cowardice and foolishness. Cowardice laments a fact but does nothing about it; foolishness rushes in ahead of God without planning and preparation.

 

Nehemiah’s prayer reveals several additional reasons why walls collapse and remain in ruins (we have already covered lack of vision). The second destroyer is sin. God scattered his people because of their infidelity to him. When they began to worship other gods, committing spiritual adultery, he ceased in practice to be their God. Tolerance of sin, whatever the form, will kill a church. Often, it is not the highly-visible, “big ticket” offenses like extortion and extramarital affairs, but insidious ones like bitterness, mistrust, pride, and refusal to change. Note that God will not only allow a church to die but, as in case of Judah, he will actually close the doors.

 

A third wrecker is apathy: “Listen to the prayers of those who delight in honoring you” (1:11 NLT, emphasis mine). Sometimes the fatal blow is not sin of commission, but sin of omission – that is, not what is done, but what is not done. In this case, God’s people simply stopped caring. The covenant and Temple worship became mere ritual, on par with every other daily task and social obligation. This complacency not only led to the destruction of Jerusalem, it was also partly responsible for the wall remaining in disrepair for so long.

 

Nehemiah stepped past the surface issue and penetrated to the heart of the matter. By the grace of God, let us do the same. What “walls” lay in ruins among us? What is God calling us to build? What have previous generations begun, leaving to us to complete?

the fear of God

“You must fear the Lord your God and serve him.”

- Deuteronomy 6:13, NLT

 

Fear God: How are we to make sense of this statement? How can we reconcile it with the numerous fear nots found within Scripture? How might this sentiment be understood as congruent with other biblical statements which seem to indicate just the opposite? Consider, for example, the words of John’s first epistle: “As we live in God, our love grows more perfect… Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear” (4:17-18, NLT). Aren’t these two attitudes inconsistent?

 

Some would suggest that the variance is due to the differences in Old and New Testament theology. But while there is certainly a significant divergence between the covenants of law and grace, this is not a sufficient explanation. Even at the inception of Mosaic Law, a tension was apparent. Gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai, the people of Israel heard God’s voice and were terrified. Moses, God’s mediator, told them: “Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you, that you may not sin” (Exodus 20:20, ESV). Don’t fear; God is just trying to make you fear. This verse embodies the seeming paradox which spans both testaments.

 

The simplest (and best) explanation is linguistic. The Hebrew word yare, which appears some 305 times in the Old Testament and is often translated as “fear,” carries nuances of meaning including awe, reverence, and respect. Its derivative, yirah, holds similar connotations and has at times been rendered “worship.” So in the above example, we might rightly understand the gist as, “Do not fear [yare], for God has come to test you, that the reverence [yirah] of him may be before you, that you may not sin.”

 

The language of the New Testament, Koine Greek, also sheds light on the issue. John’s assertion that love and fear are immiscible employs the word phobos, which is the etymological root of our word phobia. While God asks us to revere and hold him in awe, he certainly does not desire for us to be phobic of him, as a phobia is, “an irrational or very powerful fear and dislike” (Encarta Dictionary). Interestingly, Phobos was also the name of the personification of fear and the Greek god of horror. God, who is perfect love (1 John 4:16) exorcises the possession of the false god, fear. Consequently, our relationship with him is to be motivated by love, not terror.

 

To borrow a lyric from one of my favorite bands, “You can tell what you trust by the things that you fear.” Friends, let us stop kneeling at the shrines of fear – whatever they may be and wherever they may appear – because we trust in the God who conquered all there was to fear. Through Jesus, our inheritance is to “boldly say: ‘The Lord is my helper. I will not fear’” (Hebrews 13:6, NKJ, emphasis mine).

when God stands against us

“God, your God, is right there with you, fighting with you against your enemies, fighting to win.”

 

- Deuteronomy 20:4, MSG

 

There is a worship song called Open up Our Eyes whose profoundly simple message resonates with me. Over and again, it repeats the words, “Our God is fighting for us always / Our God is fighting for us all.” As of late, I’ve given much consideration to that statement. And I have realized that it speaks truth more deeply than we can know, though not in the sense we might immediately think.

 

At times, fighting for us means standing against us.

 

Balaam was a prophet. But as a man whose connection to God gave him something of a celebrity status, he was not above peddling his services to the highest bidder. As the people of Israel trekked toward the Promised Land, the king of Moab procured Balaam to curse them. So Balaam saddled up his donkey to meet with his would-be employer. Yet on the way, he encountered a detour: “God was furious that Balaam was going, so he sent the angel of the Lord to stand in the road to block his way” (Numbers 22:22, NLT). Scripture goes on to say that the angel stood there with sword drawn, ready to do whatever was necessary to stop him. “I have come to block your way because you are stubbornly resisting me,” the angel told him (verse 32). Needless to say, after a meeting with Jesus, the wayward Balaam had a change of heart and blessed the people instead.

 

Balaam’s is not a standalone occurrence. In the book of Revelation, Jesus dictated a series of letters to 7 of his churches. To Pergamum’s church he writes, “Repent, or I will come to you suddenly and fight against them with the sword of my mouth” (2:16, NLT). Why would Jesus say such a thing? This congregation had been infiltrated by false teachers who corrupted it with aberrant doctrine. Worse yet, the faithful tolerated their heresies. But Jesus would have none of it. So he sent them a message spelling out his intentions in no uncertain terms: “You are headed in the wrong direction, and I am prepared to fight if I must.”

 

It is imperative that we understand the heart which motivates this position. The portrait here is not of a God who is vindictive toward his people, seeking to punish their sin. Just the opposite, it reveals a God who seeks to vindicate them, proving them blameless. Even as he writes this, Jesus recalls the moment when, hanging on the cross, he absorbed the full wrath of God toward sin; he remembers quite clearly how he stole our sin. Not only did Jesus propitiate – that is, endure the penalty; he also expiated, meaning he removed the sin itself. When he said, “It is finished,” he left no condemnation and no sin to stain his people.

 

And so Jesus, intending to exonerate his already-ransomed saints, wields the sword of truth in their defense: “I removed your sin! So why are you returning to it? Turn back from believing these liars, those who would drag you back into condemnation, or I will wage war upon them.” Does this mean we no longer sin? Certainly not – and that is precisely the point. Notice that Jesus says to his church “I will fight against them.” There is a clear and important distinction here: “I will come to you and fight against them.” Within this body of the redeemed, there was still an element of worldliness and evil. And Jesus was willing to do whatever it took to purge it from them.

 

Pergamum, then, is an allegory of the individual believer. To a greater or lesser degree, each of us wrestles with the lingering residue of sin. Our responsibility is to repent of it, to oppose it, to fight against it. But when we openly embrace or tolerate it, as did the Pergamum faithful, Jesus must step in and do the fighting for us. When, on our journey to the land of promise, factions within seek to detour us from the straight and narrow for a path less demanding, our Savior himself barricades the way.

 

And I am so glad he does. I am grateful that his vast love for me leads my once-dead-but-now-alive Redeemer to wield a sword to excise the sin I cannot seem to kill. He is bent on making me holy, not only in my standing before God, but also in my daily life. He is furious in exacting vengeance on the sin that so easily besets me, and he is fierce in his devotion to me. This God who began a good work within me will continue it to completion (Philippians 1:6). “Our God is fighting for us always…”

carpe diem

Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered, and that my life is fleeing away.

– Psalm 39:4, NLT

 

Time: It is our greatest resource. We treat it as we do our money – we spend it, buy it, and borrow it – yet we cannot get more of it for all of our efforts. We have all been left wishing there were more hours in a day, more minutes on the clock, more moments spent with someone we love. How, then, are we to steward this most precious of commodities?

 

It begins with a prayer for perspective. David asks God to remind him just how fleeting life is. Why would he do such a thing? Most people avoid thoughts of death and the limitations of our time. Yet death and the realization of life’s brevity bring clarity. How many books, songs, and movies confirm this? Someone finds out they have only 6 months left to live and suddenly everything of significance comes into focus. All they previously deemed important is mere distraction and background noise. Such stories resonate with us because, deep within, we know they speak truth. The psalmist simply beat Hollywood to the punch on this plot by 3,000 years.

 

This is no morbid preoccupation with death; nothing could be further from the truth. Rather, David is asking God to help him live with purpose: “God, I want my life to count. I want to devote my days to things that really matter. Show me how much time I have so I don’t get caught up in short-term pursuits.” David recognized that it is foolishness to live as if we are immortal, expending everything on a life that is temporary and nothing on a life which lasts forever. Jim Elliot, a missionary who was killed at age 28 while carrying the Gospel to the native people of Ecuador, put it this way: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.”

 

The fact of the matter is that the greater our consciousness of our own mortality, the more attuned to eternity we become. We should not misconstrue this attitude for escapism; God does want us to forget about the mundane and unpleasant realities of life, or to abandon all thought of the here-and-now. Quite the opposite: He desires to impart meaning and context so we might live this life more fully. As Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly” (John 10:10, NJK, emphasis mine). To borrow a phrase from The Message Bible, when we live our everyday, ordinary, sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life in the light of eternity, even the most routine endeavor takes on new meaning (Romans 12:1).

 

Consider Jesus. This is the man who possessed only 3 short years to complete the most monumental task in human history: reconciling God with a fallen creation. This is also a man who was poignantly aware of his mortality. Yet throughout the Gospels, we never see a picture of Jesus rushing around, worrying about keeping appointments or making people wait. He didn’t carry a Day-Timer or wear a watch. By all accounts he paid precious little attention to schedules or the time. Search for any form of the word “run” in the Gospels; you will never find it used to describe Jesus.

 

What you will find repeatedly is Jesus taking his time. He took time to hold and bless children, even after his disciples tried to run them off because he was “too busy.” He took time to commune and pray alone with his Father, despite the overwhelming pressures and endless needs of ministry. He took the time to walk everywhere instead of riding horseback, investing in the lives of his disciples through shared experience and quantity time – not just quality time. The portrait of Jesus shows a very deliberate and unhurried pace in spite of the incessant press of crowds and his looming death sentence. This is because Jesus had an eternal perspective; he wasn’t trapped in the moment. He knew his life had an end, but he also knew that it would continue on into eternity. So he considered each moment and the next and the one following, doing what was best in the long run.

 

We would be wise to take a lesson from this. Later in his prayer, David says, “We are merely moving shadows, and all our busy rushing ends in nothing” (verse 6). Do not miss the irony here: We rush around because we believe we have so many important things to do, yet rushing is the very thing which robs our lives of meaning. The reality of death imparts a sense of urgency to our lives, but the reality of eternity tempers that urgency by showing us what is truly important.

 

None of us are promised tomorrow; all we have is this moment. Today is the day that God has made for us. Let us rejoice in it, be glad in it, and seize it.

faithfully reckless

The servant who received the five talents began to invest the money and earned five more. The servant with two talents also went to work and earned two more. But the servant who received one talent dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money.

– Matthew 25:16-18

 

In my coursework for business management, I learned two fundamental principles of investment. First, investment always involves risk. And supplementary to this, the greater that risk, the greater the potential return is. Matthew’s Gospel records the story of two very different sorts of investors and their unique approach to risk.

 

A nobleman was leaving the country. While away on business, he would entrust his servants with the daily operation of his estate. To each he endowed an amount commensurate with their ability, giving to one some $1.7 million, to another $690,000, and to a third $345,000. Upon his return, they would settle accounts.

 

The first two servants were proactive, investing, working, and earning. Each managed to double the original sum they were given. The third servant employed an altogether different methodology: He hoarded. Rather than risking the loss of his master’s funds on a business venture or in the markets, he simply buried it in a coffee can in the back yard.

 

In due time the master returned. Hearing of the successful investments of the first two servants, he lavished them with praise. “Well done!” he said. “You have proven yourself faithful in managing this limited amount, so I am confident you will succeed with much greater responsibilities. Come, let us celebrate together!”

 

But the third servant, the one who had been so cautious, received a decidedly different response. An analogous passage Luke’s Gospel tells us the master ‘roared’ at the servant. He was furious, calling him wicked and lazy. Unlike his peers, this man was not celebrated but berated, and was summarily dismissed from the master’s service.

 

This tale, told by Jesus and known as the Parable of the Talents, teaches us an essential truth about stewardship: Being “good and faithful” involves taking risks. Without risk, there can be no return – and Jesus expects a return on his investment. He has no interest in our playing it safe, for there is no expansion or multiplication in such halfhearted measures. Rather, Jesus asks us to put ourselves out there, in the places where faith is not an option but a requisite; not playing fast and loose, but taking calculated, God-dependent risks. We somehow feel that this is reckless, foolish even, but little could be further from truth. Following the Spirit’s guidance, responding to the nudges of God, utilizing the gifts we have been given – herein is wisdom.

 

We must unlearn our fear of failure because fear stands in direct opposition to faith. It was fear that motivated the inept servant, as he admitted to his master: “I was afraid I would lose your money, so I hid it in the earth and here it is” (verse 25). If we fail in our initial attempts, at least we do so in the service of God and in obedience to his Word. But more to the point, failure in the world’s eyes does not necessarily correlate to failure in God’s eyes. Consider Jesus. By any earthly standard, he was a dismal failure. One of his own disciples sold him out. His closest friend and right-hand man publicly disowned him. His own people rejected him. And ultimately, he was tried, condemned, beaten to a bloody pulp, and executed as a fraud, blasphemer, insurgent, and enemy of the state. None of this hints at success. Yet the very worst of it all – the public humiliation and death sentence – achieved the greatest triumph in human history: The reconciliation of our souls with God. Jesus is capable of redeeming even our failures, such as they are, and using them for his purposes. The only true failure is squandering what we are given by burying our talents.

 

Friends, may we learn to be fearless, to embrace risk with all of its possibility of failure, that we, too, might be deemed “good and faithful” in our service to Jesus.